“He’s rude becauseyou’rerude. You might be amazed at what happens if you decide to be decent.Third of all,you will make an effort to get more sponsors. Talk to thepress. Attend non-mandatory conferences and photoshoots. Don’t make me force you to speak with investors; take initiative. If you want more team money to go to you, then we need money in the first place.”
I’d rather get fucked with a rusty spoon, without lube, than initiate human contact, but if this is what it takes… “That better be the last one.”
“Fourth, you will stop dragging down team morale.”
My head jerks back. “How the fuck is itmyfault that you hired a bunch of talentless imbeciles?”
Ilya points at me. “That right there. That’s your goddamn fault, Asher. You’re needlessly cruel. You judge before you start paying attention. You did that with the intern, and missed several growth opportunities. No longer. I don’t require you to be nice—God forbid I push forthatmiracle—but you will cease going out of your way to ruin people’s days.”
“Do you want me to give you the moon, as well?” I quip… but I know he’s right. There’s no excuse for being my level of asshole. I’m surprised I haven’t been kicked off for violating the moral section of my contract by being such a complete dick.
“No. But you will be at the top of midfield for three more consecutive races. That should give you enough time to see to my other conditions. If you succeed in meeting my terms by Montreal, you’ll get your upgrade the following race. Are my terms clear?”
“Crystal,” I bite out.
“Excellent. You’re free to go. And, I’ll warn you, if I see Victoria slacking, I will hold you directly responsible.”
Again, his pointed gaze tells me all I need to know.
“Can’t make any promises,” I grunt. “Dealing with me is a full-time fucking job.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Victoria
“How many cookies do I need to bake to get the data you’ve been scraping from other teams?” I don’t waste any time when I track Oliver down in the office.
I notice there’s an already-empty bakery box crowding his desk, next to haphazard stacks of papers andsixsimultaneously lit computer monitors.
“What data do you need?”
“Front and back end.” In other words, what other drivers and teams do on the track, and the changes they make to get there off the track. The front-end data is easy to get; the back-end is slightly more… unethical. But, from what I’ve gathered, Oliver doesn’t have many issues with bending morals.
“I have no access to anything back-end. It’s all quite well protected.” Oliver’s stare dares me to challenge him.
“If you’ve never put on the grey hat, then I’m the queen of England.” My stare is equally challenging. “Your encryption on the archived data you gave me was insane.You didn’twantme to get past it, and I almost didn’t.” One of the perks of my masters program was that it was very versatile. I learned several programming and cryptography fundamentals alongside engineering principles in multiple realms. “An ordinary analyst doesn’t encrypt like that, and I’d be amazed if you weren’t capable of much more. So.”
“Be careful of the accusations you make,” Oliver says softly, giving me a warning glare. “They could have intense repercussions.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t give a shit. One of my undergrad classmates is now on the FBI’s most wanted list for breaching every three-letter agency’s cybersecurity and fucking them sideways. You literally cannot be worse than him. I don’t quite understandwhyyou made getting that data so hard for me, but I don’t care. What I care about is getting information on other teams. What’ll it take?”
Oliver gazes at the empty bakery box for a few beats. I mentally prepare to spend the next week slaving away with my demonic oven, but then, he says, “Your silence.”
I roll my eyes. “I can’t be the only one here who suspects you have certain skills.”
“None of them have gotten through my encryption.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Did you not wantmeto get through your encryption?”
“I was curious to see what you were made of.” He shrugs. “I test all the newbies like that. Most of them end up coming to me for help; you didn’t have to. So, your silence, and I’ll get you what you want.”
I narrow my eyes. This is suspiciously easy. “What, no baked goods?”
“My doctor told me to pull back on sugar,” he says flatly.
I point at the empty box. “You’re obviously committed to that suggestion.”
“Do you want the data or not?” he snaps. “And do you want it unencrypted and in a format you can actually use?”
